


Foregather

by Jumelle (Jumelles_Futago)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gasket/Ratchet if you squint, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2452628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jumelles_Futago/pseuds/Jumelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A beginning of chances. But it's a small world, so maybe it was inevitable after all.</p><p>Slow updates</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foregather

**Author's Note:**

> A prologue of sorts for a larger work.
> 
> Beta'd by myself and Futago

It was by chance that he found him, a convergence so carefully orchestrated by fate's guiding hand.

And he would thank Primus' intervention for it, if only on his behalf as well.

For he would not have come across him then, in the ruins of the eastern end toward Rodion, if he had not received that message late last cycle. His unknown informant, some benevolent angel, through crypted comms and heavy static had told him of a shipment, packed with energon, which would stop by the boarder city before continuing to its ultimate destination up north. If he had not decided to set out the next morning, before the light broke the horizon, to follow the tip, no one would have discovered him. And anyone else wouldn’t have cared.

But he did; Primus' will having led him to nearly tripping over his prone body.

At first, staring bewilderedly down at the offending protrusion, he thought it was just another pile of withered rubble; one of the many that accompanied the gaping husks of buildings, until he realized it was actually a leg his ped had clipped. Through the dawning sorrow he immediately presumed him dead, another poor soul who had succumbed to the asperities of poverty, or the bad side of a knife. There was nothing more to be done for him then, and he spared a moment to lament the loss of life— hoping that at least now they were free and happy. Bowing his head to give the respect that all mechs deserved, he was just about to continue on when he heard it: a ragged vent of a failing cooling system. He had been around long enough to know that sound well, his own catching like that when he didn't have the means to fix it. But it meant one important thing: alive. The mech was alive, and in an instant he was by his side, trying to get his attention.

" Are you alright?" he asked, tilting the mech's burning frame to get him to look at him. His dull and cracked paint was rough against his palm where he gripped his shoulders. Bright, white optics tinged faintly red at the edges gazed unseeingly up at him, oral fluid caked across his agape mouth, but besides his own ministrations he remained motionless and limp. He would have second guessed himself, a hopeful fool, if the rattle of vents weakly swirling the air by his leg had not answered him back, and he cursed as he connected the dots.

One would question taking the time— for what hope was there of saving him? The mech surely had been out here long, whatever concoction of drugs in his system running towards a lethal dosage. And the shipment wasn't going to stop in Rodion for long— that had been clear. He needed the supplies — _they_ needed the supplies: all the support groups on the east side and in his haste no one else had accompanied him.

They were _counting_ on this.

But another raspy breath sounded in the silence, this time punctuated with a keen as the overdose was no doubt reaching its final course, and in the same moment he was lifting the dull frame up with a groan from both of them to hurry back the way he came. He was not a mech to leave one to die. There would be other shipments.

" Hold on, my friend, we are not far from help." he grunted to the air, squaring his frame to bear the mech's weight across his back as Centauri's light glinted a guiding path home. His plating creaked, multiple pressure warnings popping up, but he did not stop. Every raspy breath from the mech dampening his neck spurred him on.

Neither of them had made it far into the outskirts, but it seemed to take forever to get out of the wasteland ruins and reach the edge of the city centre, the need for haste skewing time. The buildings immediately went from sparse shells to a crumbling cluster with every manner of bot to be found in there. He didn't dare cut through it, the fading mech draped awkwardly across him as good as a target on his back for bored miscreants. Instead he turned to move quickly about the fringe, the last of his functioning sensors on full alert. And Primus must have been watching then, for he crossed without incident– a pause that would have sealed the death of his self-appointed charge.

His friend was not far off now and breaking away from the boarder, again turning toward the encroaching dilapidation, he steered for one particular edifice. A squat addition to a collapsed high-rise, it was similar to those around it only in that it looked in complete decay. But beyond the façade laid the only place able to help him. With his destination so close in sight it took every fiber of his strength not to trip over his own feet, and he called out when he knew he would be heard.

Pushing through the stubborn door he stumbled into the foyer, thankfully free of patients, where he was met by a very apprehensive and irate mech. The good lashing, undoubtedly held behind his tongue at his entrance, caught in his throat once comprehending his odd stance and cargo. He could see his grayed, red and white frame practically lurch as his medical programing took over.

" What in the pit happened?" he asked as they met half way, the alarm in his voice well hidden under cool professionalism. A red hand turned him slightly, and he felt the ghost of a scan flicker across his back as it swept over the mech there.

He pulled them further in, moving forward and forcing him to follow in order to keep the connection, before he gave up what little he knew, " Overdose I believe, but his spark still beats," and as soon as he said it he didn't need to look at him to know what he thought on that.

That self-inflicted and intentional, they should be left to their fate; a wish the least anyone here should be granted and respected. For if he ran around the whole city reviving those mechs, not even a whole klick after he would have to chase them down again to do the same. But he could not begrudgingly agree. Not this time. Something told him the mech would not find peace this way, he was sure of it, and he fought for a way to convey that to him.

Thankfully he must have understood as he didn't chastise him. A grimace pulling at his faceplates before he briskly shot off towards the supply closet and barked back an order, " Take him to the back, the isolation room, it has the only functioning repair bay."

He didn't wait for him to finish before moving down into the building, knowing exactly where he meant as he had helped clean it up. As he came into the appointed room, the lights flickered on to drench it in rare, well-lit light as he entered; the crescendoing roar of the scrap-junk generator cutting through the silence. It was the only place that didn't function both as available storage and clinic housing, containing nothing other than a medical berth and a few uncommon machines. Spotless besides the rust he tracked in, he limped over to the side of the bay. He turned it on, the extent of his prowess, before carefully rolling the mech face-up on the slab and stepping away to free him of his unconsciously twitching hands.

The warnings he had pushed to the background cleared ... and then he immediately found himself collapsed on the ground, his friend appearing just in time to witness it. A number of colorful curses reached his audios over the clatter of supplies being placed on a side table. Then hands were there helping him up and he grunted as his legs shook.

" Primus, alright," his friend said, habitually assessing his damage before pointing a stern finger at an empty chair, " Sit there or outside, but get out of the way till I can deal with you."

He smiled into his gruff masked face, unoffended, and braced himself enough to shuffle to the one against the wall, all of falling into it. Every joint ached with a numbness that went past pain, and he tried not to dwell on what the pin-prick feeling regions meant. Instead he looked at his back that had turned to attend to his new patient.

" Don't worry about me," he expelled in a burst of air, more pain than he wanted bleeding into his words. He didn't matter right now, his ailments could wait. What mattered was the mech being synced up to the repair bay, and the vitals on the monitor that fluctuated all over the place. His core temperature stayed red-lined, and the machine barely picked up his weak spark beats and overworked fuel cycles.

He tried, and failed miserably, not to get choked up. But now, with nothing more to do but just sit around and wait, no task or purpose but watching, it was hard not to face the thought. The thought that this mech may very well die on that table in front of him, despite his good intentions.

And despite how many times he had seen it.

He barely heard himself croak in a soft voice, " Try ...," all of his aspirations making his voice small and heavy. Red hands paused in their administration, a syringe pressed to a grungy, exposed fuel line.

" ... always..." came the reply, his voice just as small with a multitude of hidden meanings and inadequacies before he resumed; sinking the needle home and causing the readings on the monitor to go haywire.

He nodded to his back and steeled himself. It was all they could ask for as hopeful fools.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic, sorry for any mistakes. Hopefully they aren't out of character too much so far and my writing is tolerable.
> 
> I actually didn't know Orion found him somewhat similarly until after I went looking for how to draw pre-war Rachet. .... oops? Hopefully my ending will make it up for that.
> 
> If you don't mind, let me know what you think?  
> \- Jumelle


End file.
